Insanity and Delusions
by RaeLaser1
Summary: Many have stated that "Mutant High" is insane. Suppose someone who was truly insane was introduced there? Suffering from constant hallucinations, could their new Jane Doe be more than they can handle?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. Also, I based this character's mental condition off of a romanticized version of insanity, so please do not comment on how unrealistic it is. I'm a fanfiction writer dammit, not a doctor!

* * *

"The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they are okay, then it's you."  
Rita Mae Brown

* * *

A tiny, malnourished form lay sprawled across the road, watching a very important liquid draining away into the gutter.

But instead of the tragedy you might be expecting from this statement, it was instead a perfectly unharmed young woman, and the liquid she saw was the sidewalk and curb melting; collapsing on itself like warm ice cream.

Of course the sidewalk was not really melting. But if anyone had bothered to ask her why she was lying in the road like so much road kill, and supposing she had deigned to answer, she would have replied with perfect conviction that it was because she wanted to see how much of the sidewalk would drain away before it became solid again.

Just then, a loud and horrible beast screeched at her, towering above her, puffing smoke and glaring from bright yellow eyes. A strange man who stretched and heaved as he leaned out from _inside_ the monster foamed and raged and waved his hand at her.

Like so many others she had met, this one could not speak, he just roared and chattered meaningless sounds at her. She got up and ran away

She did not like meeting the others, and with surprising consistency, they were always displeased to meet her. Some of them would even throw things at her. Some threw pieces of bread that were stuffed with red and green, and those were good to eat. But others threw rocks and pieces of brick, and those hurt.

Even worse, sometimes they connected with some of the fish that were always floating around with her, and that made her sad when they died, because they always did. They would pop like soap bubbles, and would never come back. They were all different, and one that had popped had never come back yet. It was true that there were always more, but it still made her sad.

She shook her head unhappily, and decided it was time to fly. She playfully swatted away an errant school, watching them dart just out of reach like they always did.

The ground dropped out from under her feet, and the sky bowed its head to meet her. This was her special secret, her happiest secret. She could make the world rise and fall, buck and toss, twist and flip. She could make the world turn all around her.

It was a lovely night, despite the fact that it was morning mere minutes ago, with a full crescent moon and a thousand fireflies far far away. And then before her eyes, the fireflies swarmed together and swept off, and the moon turned into a yellow brick road.

She would follow the yellow brick road! The sky came ever closer, she brought it to herself until it was close enough to touch, and she did so. Just as her hand closed around the first shimmering stone . . .

It morphed into a mango in her hands, and she was staring at an angry shopkeeper, and it was morning once again. He too was shouting and waving his arms, and the meaningless chatter washed over her. His face trembled and jerked, looming over her until he was all she could see, expanding and becoming a giant, his shadow covering everything in sight.

He yanked the mango out of her hand, normal sized again, and scooted her away, whacking at her with his broom.

She floated several inches above the sidewalk, serenely eating the orange she had managed to swipe, peel and all.

This was how she had lived her entire life, as far as she knew. She could not conceive of anything different. She let the earth fall away again, and landed on top of a roof.

On the outskirts of New York, the streets were full of mutants, hobos, and loonies. One more did not stand out. If she had been just insane, then she could have been taken to a mental hospital where she could have received help. But she was a mutant who didn't have enough sense to hide her mutation. If she had been just a mutant, one of the roving bands of mutants might have taken her in. But she was also crazy. It wouldn't have been worth the effort to feed and protect her. And if she was just homeless, a homeless shelter might have taken her in. But she was also crazy and a mutant.

So she sat on the roof, watching flowers sprout out of the bare tarpaper and chewing the peel on her orange.

She sat motionless for a long time, occasionally whimpering or giggling, depending on what she was seeing. And then she woke up with a start and realized that it was dark, a smoky, horrible kind of dark instead of a flowery, moony kind of night.

All she could hear were footsteps, and all she could see was green eyes flicking towards her one pair at a time.

At least one pair of eyes proved to be a cat, as the mangy animal scuttered out from under a trash can under the street light. But just as she was sighing in relief, the formerly innocent creature twisted and bloated, growing and shedding darkness and fur. It grew and grew, and it was still looking at her, all fangs and fur and still shedding waves of darkness.

She screamed. And screamed and screamed and screamed, even as she noticed that the streets were hurtling by at an alarming speed, because the monster was somehow keeping up, and its eyes were no longer green, but amber, and she knew that the color amber meant danger, and its teeth were _red_ because it had already taken her foot, and nothing she did made her fast enough to avoid losing the other one.

And then she spied a warm golden glow coming from a nearby cathedral, a beautiful brick building with steeples and glass windows and everything. Gold meant safety.

She forgot all about the monster behind her, and apparently it forgot about her, for it wandered off and did not bother her again. She touched the ground again; and noticed in a distracted but happy way that her feet had been restored.

The gold glow of the cathedral was positively beautiful. She had never met a place that she wanted to go into more. Her natural instincts, warning her that entering buildings was dangerous, warred with her curiosity. And of course curiosity won.

With a jolt, the ground sank away from her, the street swung up until it was parallel with her body. And then it was racing away underneath her, the cathedral spinning closer at exhilarating speed. But then the entire world slowed to a peaceful halt with no more than a gentle touch of her palms to the cathedral windowsill.

She awkwardly wriggled her way inside the narrow window, and gently floated to the floor far below her.

It was dark, very dark, but there were no eyes and she was grateful. She thought she might sleep here for the night. She floated around the interior, examining everything as well as she could despite the hum in her ears and the way the room seemed to vibrate.

A big statue of a woman was at the front, and she felt a sudden impulse to curl up in her outstretched hands. The statue's head lifted and nodded slightly. She beamed with joy, and folded up in the crook of her arm. It really was an immense statue.

Her rough clothing scraped against the marble, and unexpectedly, a pair of eyes opened up from near the front.

She froze in fear. Amber eyes, amber danger, danger danger danger . . . No, gold. Gold eyes. Gold meant safety.

The eyes disappeared.

Curious again, she hopped silently to the ground and crossed over, ghostlike, to where she had seen the specter.

She was successful enough that she was standing right in front of him when she finally spotted him, crouched on the ground, hands pressed together at the palms.

With the sun in his eyes; the night sky on his skin; and the smell of damnation and purification clinging to him like a cloak, he was like no one she had ever seen before. She bent forward and stared at him closer.

His sunny eyes opened, neither had time to do anything other than gasp before the shadows leaped out from every corner and snatched him away, leaving the scent of damnation hanging in the air thickly.

She shrieked, and then laughed, clapping her hands. She knew now, he was special like her. To be able to command the shadows to carry you away! She hoped he would come back.

She twisted around, and spotted him up on a rafter. Her fish were grouped about him tightly, giving him a shimmering, hazy look. With a lazy flick of her wrist, she sailed up and perched on a neighboring rafter.

"Doogan! Doogan(1)!" she enthused. The Shadow Man stared at her blankly, hunched over and clutching his trench coat in front of him protectively.

"Doogan!" she commanded, a bit more sternly this time. "Ahwannawangchihgan.(2)"

"Do... again?" Shadow Man questioned. She giggled and nodded.

He looked a little longer at her, and then just as unexpectedly as the first time, the shadows leaped out, wrapped around him like a giant fist, and whisked him away.

She gasped again, her fists stuffed in her mouth, eyes wide. She cast about for him, kicking her feet excitedly. Shadow Man had appeared on her other side, and was watching her again.

"Wangch. Ahmoowhirld.(3)" she proclaimed, standing up and drifting up towards the ceiling.

Shadow Man was silent for a long time, long enough at least that she grew bored and started sweeping up the shadows with her hand, watching them seep away through her fingers.

Then he stood up. "I know a place where you can go to be safe. It is called Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Its for people like us to go to. Would you like to go?" he asked.

She understood the words, as Shadow Man made sure to speak very carefully, but not the content. So she smiled, and said, "'Kay."

* * *

I decided I wanted to write about a character who was living in a totally different world than everybody else around her. So voila, you have my poor nameless character, who suffers from insanity and severe hallucinations. Not much happens around her that is real, but I think you can separate fact from fiction here.

By the way, she speaks like a very young child with a bit of a speech impediment. Along with the fact that she has not been in normal contact with people for a very long time, she has very nearly created her own language, which is why she does not understand the words when people shout at her. When they speak slowly and clearly however, she can still understand them.

(1)Do it again

(2)I want to watch it again

(3)Watch. I move the world


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. Also, I based my character's mental condition off of a romanticized version of insanity, so please do not comment on how unrealistic it is. I'm a fan fiction writer dammit, not a doctor! Same scene as last Chapter, different POV. Some characters may seem out of character. Sorry, did the best I could!

* * *

Dogbert: "Reality is always controlled by the people who are most insane."  
Scott Adams, Dilbert

* * *

Kurt was not having a good day. It started out with him falling out of bed. For once, his natural athleticism failed him, and he had fallen on his face. True, he was still asleep when it happened, but now he could no longer brag that he could do backflips and the like in his sleep. And what was the point in going on, if you could no longer do _that?_

So he marched along to breakfast in the kitchen with an icepack on his forehead. He was glad bruises didn't show up on is dark skin.

What was worse, Logan, with whom he was developing an odd friendship, had seemed to be in an especially rotten mood, and had felt the need to make several less than polite references to his apparent clumsiness. Kurt, not feeling especially generous as a result of his pounding head, had risen to the bait, and was tricked into agreeing to spar with him.

There was a reason why people avoided sparring with the Wolverine.

So Kurt stomped into his German class, giving the fidgety class a beady-eyed glare. His tail refused to be still, lashing in a distinctly predatory manner. Some of the more feral children recognized this, and shrank back into their seats.

Now he felt bad.

Not bad enough to refrain from giving them a pop quiz, though. He ignored the glares, which were beginning to look a bit beady themselves, and decided that torturing his class made him feel better.

"Maybe I should give pop quizzes more often?" he mused.

"NO!" the class chorused as one. He cackled silently, and perched up on top of his desk, keeping careful watch his students to discourage any cheating. Grumbling mutinously and fishing out pencils, the class began to fumble through strange words and phrases.

_Maybe today won't be such a bad day after all_, he mused.

And maybe fish would fall from the sky, giving all the poor bums in New York food to eat!

Things began taking a nosedive again when Storm snatched his arm and dragged him into the library as he was making his way downstairs for lunch.

"Kurt, I need that book up on the top shelf there for my next class, but I can't reach it. Will you get it for me?" she said, somehow making a request into a demand.

Now, _normally_, he would have done so with a bow and a flourish. But his mood simply wasn't the best, and plus something to the side had just caught his attention.

"There's a ladder three feet to your right," he pointed out.

Ororo gave him a stern, disappointed look. "Am I to understand Kurt, that even though I have asked you-"

"All right, all right, I'll get it," Kurt grumbled. With minimal effort, he scampered up the shelves. Near his hand was a book with the title, "Eighteenth Century Literature."

"Is this it?" he asked, showing it to her.

"No no," Storm sighed impatiently. "The one next to it. With the green cover. That one . . . No that other one! The one that's right next to your hand! Your left hand. Your other left!"

"This IS my left hand!" Kurt snapped.

"You were looking towards your right," Storm said, folding her arms.

"I was trying to get a better grip on the shelf so I wouldn't fall on my head!" he explained condescendingly. He snatched the green book and handed it to her. "Here."

"This isn't it! The dark green book, Kurt, the one that is _right. Next. To. Your. Left. Hand_!

Snarling with irritation, Kurt snatched to book back, flung it back in place, and shoved the darker one into her hands, and made a dramatic exit, pausing by the door to glare at her.

"Don't damage school property!!" Storm called after him indignantly.

Muttering angrily to himself, Kurt slouched his way to the kitchen to get some lunch before classes resumed. Alas, it was not to be. Logan was really spoiling for a fight. Normally, Kurt wouldn't have allowed _anyone_ to grab him by the collar and drag him off to the Danger Room to beat the tar out of him, but he was beginning to feel a little resigned to his fate.

"Classes…" he protested weakly.

"…Don't start for another fifteen minutes. Don't go trying to weasel out of this Elf, you promised you'd spar, and God help me if I don't make you into a man of your word!"

"But my life insurance!"

"_Don't worry_! I'm your beneficiary, remember?" Logan half-turned and gave him a sadistic smile.

"You are?" Kurt gulped. _Gott in Himmel! He was going to die!_

But before he could even muster up enough energy to teleport, the stainless steel Danger Room walls had closed in around him, and the sadistic bast- oops, he meant jerk- had raised anti-teleportation shields that let him bamf _within_ the walls, but not outside.

* * *

Kurt was a good fighter. He was nearly impossible to catch, he was flexible, acrobatic, and not too shabby with a sword, or whatever was handy that might serve as a sword-like weapon.

However, Logan was relentless.

And he refused to put those damn- oops, he meant darn - claws back inside his arms where they belonged!

As Kurt bounced and flipped and dodged and bamfed, he also nursed a small fantasy of shoving those claws up a place that would ensure Logan sang soprano for the rest of his life.

Enacting the fantasy was just not something Kurt was ready to try just yet.

Twenty minutes later (late for class, of course) Kurt was pulling himself up the stairs, sore, more than a little bloody, bruised, and with crossed eyes that didn't seem to want to _uncross_. That last kick in the head really did a number on him.

And he still hadn't had lunch.

Instead of pulling his brain back together, Kurt just gave the students a free period and sat crouched on his swirly chair, feeling miserable and sorry for himself as he pressed his warm icepack to the side of his head.

It was nearly dinnertime before he stopped seeing double. He probably should have been concerned about possible damage, like a concussion.

The dining room was a mess. Somebody had decided to start a food fight. He did not want to deal with, so he grabbed a bag of chips and fled.

After devouring the contents, he decided to go to a local chapel, and try to get some things off his mind. It was late, so it would probably be empty. The more he thought about this idea, the more he liked it. It would be a nice, uplifting ending to a rotten day.

Wrapped up in a duster, thick wooly scarf, sunglasses, ski cap, gloves and large heavy boots (massively uncomfortable for his poor uniquely designed feet), he probably attracted more attention on the warm August night than he would have if he had gone without a disguise. As soon as he could, he ducked down a grungy looking alley and 'ported.

There were no lights on, which was encouraging. Of course since it was empty of people and full of valuables, the doors were locked, but who needed doors? Peering through a window to make sure of where he should land, he 'ported in.

He noticed the smell of brimstone wafting through the air, and fanned it frantically. He hoped it would be gone by morning, it wouldn't do for people to walk in and find it smelling like the Lake of Fire.

Giving up, he shed his excess clothing, went over to the pulpit and awkwardly kneeled down. His body was designed for crouching, not kneeling.

* * *

Kurt was deep in his prayers when he noticed it. He was being watched. Feeling ice trickle down his back, he slowly opened his eyes, tense and prepared to fight or flee. His bright yellow eyes pierced the darkness easily, casting about for an enemy.

He almost laughed aloud. It was just the Virgin Mary, gazing down on him with loving eyes and widespread hands. Mentally shaking his head at his paranoia, he bowed his head and closed his eyes again.

Just as he was becoming deeply involved in his praying once again; the sense of danger returned at full force, bearing down upon him. He snapped his head up, eyes wide.

There in front of him sat a wild-eyed young woman, staring at him with her full concentration. Without thinking, he bamfed straight up to the rafters. Below him, she began making strange noises.

He clutched at the supporter beam, breathing hard. Stupid! Never let your guard down, and never teleport as your first option. Only in emergencies, which this was not. He could easily have gotten away from her the mundane way.

Then he looked down in confusion. The strange noises she was making… laughter. She was laughing. No, not even that, she was _giggling_. Giggling and clapping her hands.

_What the…_

She spun around for a minute, obviously searching for him. After only a few seconds, she picked him out with unnerving accuracy, then her feet were no longer on the ground, and she was sitting right next to him, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ah. Mutant. Probably also why she was not terrified.

Up close, Kurt realized she was not the most gorgeous; nor the cleanest of women. Her hair was long, greasy, and ragged at the ends. She carried the scent of a body that had remained unwashed for far too long. Her face was long and pinched, sunken in around her cheeks, and her eyes looked at him from deep within her head. Even if she was cleaned up, she would never be beautiful, her face held no sign of beauty, however faded. She was irrevocably plain.

Kurt only realized that he had been staring when her voice broke the silence, garbled and senseless.

"Doogan! Doogan!" she said in a commanding voice.

"Excuse me?" Kurt asked, certain he had not heard right. Maybe it was an atrociously thick accent, maybe she was drunk or on drugs…

"Doogan! Ahwannawangchihgan" she repeated, giving him a stern look. _Do again…a slew of chiggers again? No, I want to WATCH again! _Her words were understandable, just badly slurred.

"Do…again?" he repeated cautiously. She nodded - she didn't just nod her head, her entire body followed the bobbing motion, rocking until he was concerned that she would fall off the rafter.

Taking it to mean that she wanted to watch him teleport again, Kurt decided, why not? He'd never had anybody outside of the circus and the X-Men think it was amazing in a positive way before. He generously bamfed around to her other side.

The delight on her face was nothing short of childlike, as she whirled around, her fists stuffed in her mouth.

Kurt grinned, basking in the attention before realizing his oversight.

"My name's Kurt," he introduced himself quickly, feeling embarrassed. "What's your name?"

With the air of someone who has not heard a single word you've just said, the girl stood up, looking ridiculously solemn, and told him seriously, "Wangch. Ahmoowhirld" And with that obscure statement, she launched herself up in the air, doing a loop-de-loop for good measure.

Kurt laughed, but inwardly he was starting to grow a little concerned about her mental state. Was the childlike behavior and baby talk due to being mentally handicapped? Or had she been abused badly enough that her social growth had been halted? Anything was possible.

"What's your name?" he tried again. She continued to smile at him blankly. Her eyes looked disturbingly flat, almost plastic.

Finally, Kurt made a decision. She was a mutant, and one obviously in need of help. Xavier's school was _built_ for people like her!

He stood up. "I know a place where you can go to be safe. It is called Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Its for people like us to go to. Would you like to go?" he asked, being sure to enunciate very carefully past his thick German accent.

She smiled, a blank, not-quite-there smile, and said, "'Kay."

* * *

For all the people out there wondering why they had to suffer through the same scene twice, its because while looking through the eyes of a crazy person could certainly be interesting, it's not going to be very helpful when it comes to the details. So, voila.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Do I really have to say this? You've gotta know that X-Men isn't mine. I'd be worried if you didn't!

* * *

"Insanity -- a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world."  
R. D. Lang

* * *

She genially allowed Shadow Man to wrap his arms around her, having at this point decided he was harmless, and recognizing the gesture as essentially friendly.

And then she felt a terrible sucking pressure that started in her stomach and spread to everywhere. For a moment she felt the alarming sensation of being twisted inside out, and then being flipped right side out again, and her body was stuck full of sharp, spiny teeth.

Then a perfectly manicured lawn was rushing up to meet her face, and things were coming out of her mouth; rotten, half-decayed worms, dried up butterfly wings, darkness and deceit, soggy ribbons that used to be pink, and dozens of shiny copper pennies.

Shadow Man was holding her long lank hair out of her face as she vomited, babbling apologies and explanations that she didn't hear and wouldn't have understood anyways.

She unsteadily staggered to her feet and wrapped her arms around her chest. She wouldn't have been terribly surprised to find out that she was still inside out, but everything seemed to be where it ought to be.

Shadow Man was plucking at her arm, murmuring nervously. She couldn't understand anything he said. However after a moment it became clear that he was trying to lead her down a moss-infested sidewalk towards a brick wall.

"More magic," she thought, and decided to follow him.

Two wooden doors materialized in the bricks before her, swinging wide open. Despite being sick to her stomach still, she could not stop the feeling of elation and wonder.

The opening stretched wider and wider. A blast of warm, damp air slapped her in the face, and the entire building seemed to sigh.

She suddenly realized she was walking into the jaws of the _**monster**_. But before she could even begin to fight her way out, the mouth snapped shut behind her and she was trapped.

She whirled around, only to realize that her settings had changed. Instead of the gullet of a ravenous beast, she was in a corridor. She wasn't too terribly sure whether she was inside a building or not. She had been inside places like Salvation Army Soup Kitchen's, and they had certainly never looked like this.

Maybe she _was_ in the gullet of a ravenous beast, after all she had never been in one before. How was she to know what they looked like?

Perhaps being devoured by monsters wasn't as bad as she had been led to believe, she decided.

She kept silent as Shadow Man led her about, staring with bug-eyed admiration at the oak-paneled floors and expensive furnishings. Once or twice she tried touching something, but her fingers left a bright, lurid stain and she dared not try it again.

Abruptly, Shadow Man turned to face the wall, and rapped it sharply, twice. From behind the wall, a muffled distorted voice dripped out. This seemed to be some sort of invitation, for Shadow Man then pulled open a door where there had been none, and ushered her through, trying not to wrinkle his nose as she passed him.

Everything in the room she entered struck a cord of wrongness deep within her. There was a wild-eyed, wild-haired man gesturing angrily at Shadow Man and saying angry things incomprehensibly. There was a close, suffocating feeling in the room, which made her desperately want to fly away. And there was a man sitting in a chair with wheels, floating well above her head.

The man was almost invisible behind big, billowing waves of blue. He smelled like the air after a lightning strike. One of the waves formed a shape like a finger, reached out and gently tapped her on the forehead.

For a moment, things went terribly skewed – her fish disappeared, and everything seemed to go colorless. Then they went back to normal, as she caught a glimpse of the tendril beating a hasty retreat. She noticed the man was now on the floor behind his desk. He seemed to belong there, the same way the stacks of paper and small bookends did.

The other man paced and muttered, bringing her attention to him. He smelled of beastly things, things that crouch and stalk, and watch unsuspecting prey with amber eyes behind the bushes. He smelled like the hunt

Shadow Man was engaged with the blue-chair-wheel man, occasionally gesturing at her. She tensed. In her experience, being pointed at was usually the only warning she got before something was thrown at her.

The Beastly Man was now involved too, making sounds of disbelief, and pointing at her as well. He readjusted his cigar and came stomping over to her, looked her straight in the eye and asked, garbled but intelligible, "Hey kid. You in there?"

The question made no sense to her, so she remained silent. She disliked immensely having a predator this close to her. So when the Beastly Man half-turned to look behind him, she shot up into the air, clung to the ceiling, and began to run across it on all fours towards the exit.

"Hey! What the hell's she doing?!"

"Be careful!"

A voice broke into her thoughts, this time one she understood with ease despite the heavy weariness in its tone. _[No one will harm you. It's safe. You can come down]_

She paused and looked around, her head flicking from side to side as she hung upside down, fingers and toes lightly pressed against the ceiling. A thin tendril of blue connected to her forehead finally revealed where the voice was coming from. The seated man. The Speaker.

_[Come down]_ he urged again, and this time she did.

She placed herself right in front of his desk, and he began to speak, saying many things that were, no doubt, important, but completely lost on her.

She watched in fascination as the calm blue words slid from between his lips and floated to their assigned positions above his head.

She glanced to the side and noticed that Beastly Man beside her was glowing. Not just any kind of glowing though. Dark, lurid red coronas snaking around a bright blood-red core.

Drawn by a kind of horrified curiosity, she swept her finger across his shoulder, ignoring his _slightly_ hostile reaction.

The bloody redness clung to her finger, pulsing rhythmically. With a spasmodic motion, she wiped her hand on her ragged pants, shivering with horror. An evil looking red smear branched across her jeans, leaving her finger just as infected looking as before. Panicky, she wiped her hand across her shirt, then against the desk. It wouldn't come _off_, it just _spread_, and it--

It was _growing,_and

The red was _leaving_ him, and coming towards

_Her_ and it had consumed nearly all

Of her _hand_

_And..._

_scream... and scream..._

And it was covering her, and she

Couldn't _see_ anything except

Red.

_scream..._

And Shadow Man was bellowing, "Fraulein! Stop!" and the red was gone, and there was three men looking at her with wide eyes and and wide mouths.

* * *

"What the hell was that?" Logan asked once their mystery guest had departed for Hank McCoy's tender care.

For once, Wheels seemed to be at a loss for words.

"I have been through the minds of people who were insane before," he eventually said, wearily. "But nothing ever like that. Nothing so strange. Nothing so..." he paused for a beat, "Intense."

"I was talking about the screaming fit she threw on the floor just a minute ago," Logan pointed out.

"It was triggered when she touched you, " Chuck mused.

Logan stepped back, eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute here, bub," he said. "You're trying to tell me that it's _my _fault?"

"No Logan, that is not what I'm saying," he said wearily, massaging his temples. He remained silent for a moment, then sat up and said abruptly, "I must think about this more," in a way that was a clear dismissal.

Logan chomped on his unlit cigar in irritation, but stepped out anyways.

Damn. He'd forgotten why he'd gone to Chuck in the first place.

* * *

A.N. Hi. I know its been a while, but please review anyways!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Do I really have to say this? You've gotta know that X-Men isn't mine. I'd be worried if you didn't!

* * *

"All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusions is called a philosopher."  
Ambrose Bierce

* * *

She sat on the thin metal cot, and looked around quizzically. She was freshly bathed, having been encouraged to shower, and she thought her hair looked a little shorter. Her clothes were new, and smelled like the thin scraggly pine trees that dotted the sidewalk in some parts of the city. She cautiously sniffed her wrists, unused to smelling so different.

She was in a big white room, filled with metal things, and more white things. She knew instinctively that the doors would not open if she tried them. The big fuzzy blue man - who smelled like a strange combination of animal, and paper and ink - had reassured her in an astonishingly easy to understand voice that he would be right back. He also told her many times not to be afraid, despite the fact that she couldn't imagine him hurting her. His eyes were gold, like Shadow Man's. He was safe.

However, it felt like he had been gone a long time. She was getting bored, and the way that the metal instruments over in the corner were starting to slither over to her was unnerving. So she floated in the air, and began to look for an exit. She had gone around the room twice before she found it. Embedded in the ceiling was a vent, and if she squeezed up her shoulders a funny way and thought thin thoughts, she would be able to fit. She happily yanked the vent out of its groove, left it swinging on its hinges, and began to wriggle through.

She decided to slide in feet first so she could put the vent back. Someone, she didn't know who, had told her to always put things back where they belonged when she was done with them. With a moment's yanking and twisting, the vent snapped back into place and she twisted around so she was facing forward.

Crawling through the vents was fun, except for the occasional spider, but if she hid her face and didn't breathe, they always went away. There were many other vents, and sometimes she stopped to look through them. When she did, there was always something exciting going on, with lots and lots of people underneath saying things she couldn't understand, laughing, joking, and occasionally fighting.

She stopped above a room that appeared to be empty, and pushed at the vent until it swung open. With a light movement, she swung out and dropped to the floor. She fiddled with her borrowed clothing for a moment, and then decided to explore the room. It was dark but that was not a problem for her, her fishes showed her what she needed to see.

Not all of them had made the journey with her, almost half of them had been left behind in the jump. However, this school was a nesting ground for more of them, more beautiful and bizarre than ever. They swam over to the door and waited.

She opened the door and peeked out. The hall was a colorful cacophony of color and noise, people rushing back and forth, pushing, leaping, walking, running. Mystified as to what their purpose could be, she stepped out, and was immediately pushed to the side. Someone shouted something unintelligible after her, and was gone.

She decided to follow the bulk of the crowd, and was led (pushed, pulled) to a hallway with rows of doors, which the students were dividing themselves up to enter. She hesitated, then following her instincts, chose the door nearest her and slid inside it.

Once inside, she was confronted with a large group of people (children?) sitting in funny looking chairs or standing. She danced over - yes, danced - drawing even more attention - and examined the funny chair, with a plank of wood attached to it at just the right height to allow someone to rest their elbows on its surface.

She slid into one of the chairs and did exactly that, placing her elbows on the surface and smiling at its smooth texture. She hummed tunelessly and kicked her heels against the floor, ignoring how the attention of the others seemed to be increasingly drawn towards her.

A man; _An adult,_ one of her fish whispered to her; walked into the room, shutting the door after himself.

He was wearing red glasses, and she couldn't see past them, which made her nervous. If she couldn't see his eyes, then how could she be expected to learn anything about him? His face held about as much expression as the glasses did, making himself even harder to know.

Then he spoke, and everything became clear. He was trying hard to keep his voice as lifeless as the rest of him, but failing. She could hear clearly the sound of misery, loneliness, self-loathing, and restrained fury slowly morphing into something darker – bitterness.

She hated listening to it.

Thinking this, she got up from her lovely seat and marched resolutely out the door, a vague idea of climbing back into her vent taking hold of her

***

Scott walked into his classroom, carefully keeping his face blank. For once, he was glad of his mutation. His modified visor wouldn't let anybody know that he had been bawling like a baby just half an hour ago.

He didn't have the right to be glad of his mutation. He didn't have the right to be glad of _anything_. Jean was dead, and being happy was certainly not going to bring her back.

His mutation had always felt like weeping fire. Maybe he was. Except now he was weeping emptiness, bitterness, worthlessness.

Logan couldn't have loved Jean all that much. He was still the same as before. Rude. Acerbic. Stealing his motorcycle. He was willing to bet _Logan_ didn't lock himself up in his room so he could cry and break things. Neither did anybody else. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only one who remembered Jean.

But then Professor Xavier would cast him a sad, droopy look, and Scott would remember that, _yes, there are other people who love and miss her_.

Why didn't she want to stay? She could have done everything that she had done from within the jet, and been perfectly safe afterwards. SO WHY DIDN'T SHE?!

Ah yes, students. He was supposed to be teaching them. He opened his mouth, and heard himself saying something about prepositions. Ah, joy. Grammar.

He saw a face in the front row that he didn't recognize. This in itself was not so unusual, ever since Jean had died he had become much less involved with new students. What _was_ unusual was how she was getting up out of her seat and walking out the door.

Scott paused with his mouth open, torn. Should he let the student simply walk out and encourage others to follow her bad example? Or should he chase after her and leave a bunch of teenagers with superpowers alone?

"Behave," he told them, glowering for extra emphasis, and then sprinted out the door. Perhaps something was wrong? Maybe she was sick? Maybe she was just disrespectful?

He caught up to her as she was starting to walk into the old band room, used only as a storage room for three years now. Convinced now that she was just a troublemaker, he snatched her shoulder and barked out "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

The girl whirled around and cringed, her eyes stretched as wide as they would go. Scott winced, he hadn't meant for his voice to come out so harsh.

*"I'n go a'mou," she explained.

Scott stared.

She stared at him expectantly, apparently waiting for a response. Was she speaking another language? Was she making fun of him?

Apparently tiring of waiting for him, the girl lifted herself off her feet and floated off down the hallway.

"Hey!" Scott shouted indignantly. He was beginning to get a sinking feeling that he had lost all control of the situation. "Come back here! You get right back here!"

"Shhh!" Ororo scolded him, poking her head out of her classroom. "We're having a study hall!" Scott felt utterly humiliated. He bet things like this never happened to her.

"It's a new student," he hissed back. "She just up and left my class!"

Ororo raised her eyebrows. Leaning back, she told her class sternly, "Behave," echoing Scott's own earlier words. She then quietly slid out the door and closed it. "Is that her?" she asked, pointing down the hall at the bobbing figure growing smaller and smaller.

Scott nodded, and Ororo swept past him after her, looking every inch a goddess despite her casual clothing.

"What is her name?" she asked.

Scott shrugged. "I don't know. I've never seen her before." She gave him a stern, disapproving look.

Since she was not moving too terribly fast the two teachers caught up to her fairly quickly. The problem was she didn't stop, not even when they stepped in front of her. Ororo took her arm and dug her heels in, pulling the young mutant down to the ground by main strength.

"What are you doing, child?" she asked, irritation clouding her voice.

The girl's head twitched, and she looked at Ororo as if she had only just noticed her. Her mouth fell open, and she tentatively reached out to touch the Weather Witch's hair. Ororo caught her hand before it reached its destination. She didn't like being touched.

"Why did you walk out of class?" she asked, this time her voice uncertain. Again the girl did not respond verbally. She glanced between them, her head turning with sharp, birdlike motions. Her eyes were still wide and ringed with white.

Scott began to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. The girl looked crazy, and he supposed it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that she was. With the things that some mutants were forced to endure, was it too hard to believe that one might have snapped before being brought here?

"Ororo..." he muttered. She gave him an uneasy look. "Maybe we should take her to the infirmary?" he suggested.

"That sounds like a good idea," she agreed. Both of them holding onto an arm, they then proceeded to frog-march her downstairs to Dr. Hank.

She lifted her feet off the ground and giggled, giving the appearance that Scott and Ororo were pulling along a human balloon. She stayed like that, drifting and being pulled along by the two adults until she reached the elevator, ignoring the concerned glances being thrown her way.

Scott pushed the down button and resigned himself to an unpleasant elevator ride.

Before too long the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, but before they could get on, Dr. McCoy burst out looking extremely distressed. Then his glance fell on the girl, and he practically sagged against the wall in relief.

"Oh, _good_, you found her," he sighed.

"Who is she?" Ororo asked bewildered, beating Scott to the punch.

"She's our newest resident," Hank said with a toothy grin. "I'm afraid the rest of her information is confidential. You'll have to ask Charles if you want to know more."

Hank placed a large paw on the girl's shoulder, steering her over to the elevator. "What were you thinking, running off like that?" he asked gently.

**"I'n ex'poring," she told him primly. Then the elevator doors slid shut, and Ororo and Scott heard no more.

"I'm going to speak with Professor Xavier," Scott muttered.

"I as well," Ororo agreed, both of them completely forgetting about the classes they had left behind.

* * *

AN: Chapter four, as promised! This story is turning out to be a lot of fun. Review and let me know if you have any suggestions or questions, or just want to compliment my brilliance :-)

*I'm going to the vent. She doesn't actually have a word that means vent, so she basically made one up.

**I was exploring


	5. Chapter 5

O, hark! what mean those yells and cries? His chain some furious madman breaks; He comes-I see his glaring eyes: Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes. Help! Help! He's gone!-O fearful woe, Such screams to hear, such sights to see! My brain, my brain,-I know, I know I am not mad but soon shall be.

-Matthew Gregory Lewis, '_The Maniac'_

Dr. Hank McCoy sighed as he fiddled with his glasses. Charles was seated directly across from him, weariness stamped on his face. The entire X-Men team (and Logan) were crowded into his office staring at him, waiting for his diagnosis.

He sighed again.

"From what I have observed thus far, our little Jane Doe displays all the classic symptoms of severe schizophrenia, including disorganized speech and behavior, delusions and hallucinations, and on-off paranoia."

The others broke out into a murmur, mostly agreements.

"She also suffers from malnutrition and certain vitamin deficiencies, which are the cause for her poor vision and slightly bowed legs."

This time there were sounds of pity, and one "Huh," from Logan.

"She is a host to a number of parasites, both internal and external, some of which I haven't been able to eradicate yet."

A sickly silence, in which Kurt, Scott, and Ororo began brushing their palms against their thighs, in a manner that suggested that they probably weren't aware they were doing so.

"She has numerous healed and a few half-healed breaks, especially in her finger bones. Most of her toes sport poorly healed breaks, and there is one partially healed green-stick fracture in her left thumb."

Gasps of horror, and several, "Poor child!"'s.

"From what I can tell from her teeth – which are in remarkable condition considering what must have been a total lack of any dental care – she is about 22. Her wisdom teeth are just starting to come in, so I will have those removed before they become a problem."

He sighed in relief. Nearly finished. There was no telling what she was up to in his absence.

"What else do we know about her?" Ororo asked practically.

"She can fly," Scott offered.

"She can run across the ceiling like a goddamned spider," Logan grunted. He was given some odd looks.

"She can escape from a locked room by means other than the door,' Hank huffed.

"She seems to be able to see in the dark," Kurt added.

"That's an impressive list for one mutant," Charles Xavier sighed. He scrubbed his forehead. "It's possible she could send a less powerful telepath into a coma should they attempt to read her mind. I have a feeling all the Tylenol in the world will not cure the headache I gained from her."

"Did you gain any information from her?" Ororo asked.

"Other than a rather interesting vision of myself, floating a good six feet over my desk? No." Charles admitted.

This time he was the one to get the odd looks.

"Where is she now?" Kurt asked.

"She's in the medic bay," Hank stated confidently.

"No, she isn't," Charles said, his eyes popping open. "She's in a classroom heading out the window!"

Immediately, Kurt fumbled for the door, Hank right behind him.

"If she wants to go, why don't we let her?" Logan asked, raising his voice over the din.

"She can't take care of herself, Logan!" Ororo snapped, sweeping out the door after the two blue men.

Scott stared after them. "They can handle it," he muttered, trudging out the door, and pivoting sharply on his heel. Charles didn't have to read his mind to know that he was heading towards his quarters.

She wasn't sure why she kept being left behind in this small boxy room. She was used to wandering where she would, whenever she wanted.

So she wriggled her way back through the vent, carefully replacing the screen that was no wider than the width of her palm. She happily scooted along, feet first, seeing her path falling away under her nose.

That's why she didn't see it until she had scooted right over it.

It was an eye, an enormous, bloodstained eye. It was twitching, rolling. By some miracle it hadn't seen her yet.

RUN!

She couldn't run

Crawl away as

fast

as you can Don't

let it see

you

She bashed her way through another vent, dropping into another classroom, this one devoid of the Others. She couldn't help but be relieved, They were pleasant enough, but terribly stress-inducing, and They all seemed to want something from her.

Humming tunelessly, she circled the room, picking up scattered bits and pieces that had been left in Their wake. A pencil, a scrap of paper, a thing she had no name for; but seemed to be made up of many, many pieces of paper and a coiled piece of metal.

She came to a gradual halt in front of the window. _Is this what it means to look through another's eyes?_ she wondered. A precise square, showing a precise square of elsewhere, like a portal to another world. Surely the blue sky and green grass, laying against the wall like an open wound, could have nothing in common with the white tiles she now stood upon. If she were to go out there, she would be passing through the portal into another world.

The glass began to bow from the pressure of her hands, and then quite suddenly, her hands slid through, and she was halfway through the glass.

She carefully gripped the sides of the window-frame, shivering at the cool liquid feeling of glass sliding around her wrists, and pulled herself further through the window.

With a precise little flip, she was outside, and the ground was coming up gently.

She strode off happily, scattering small red flowers in her wake, skipping every third step. The building had a nicely trimmed hedge bordering its walls, with about a foot in between for her to squeeze into. It invited her in, waving cool green branches at her. She wriggled through gladly.

It wasn't too long however, until the branches were snarling hatefully at her, hooking her clothes and hair, and digging viciously at her skin. She let out a whimper, and pressed herself up against the wall. It scraped her back painfully.

Her hands, face, arms and shoulders stung dreadfully. The red flowers that had been her accompaniment were falling thick and fast.

"Good Lord!"

"What happened?"

"What did you _do?_"

"Oh, honey!"

By this point she was crying too hard to really be able to tell who was speaking to her, but at a guess it sounded like the Woman Who Smelled of Ozone, the Big Fuzzy Blue Man, the Wild Man and the Shadow Man.

"Look at this, she went right through the window," the Big Fuzzy Blue Man said, tapping the window frame with it's row of jagged glass teeth.

"She's got glass embedded in her feet, her arms, her hands..." Ozone woman stated, pulling her free of the hedges.

She found herself being propelled back inside, back to that room she was beginning to absolutely loathe.

Big Fuzzy Blue Man was wrapping up her arms, and now he was pushing a needle into her arm, and everything was going a blissful, moony kind of dark...


End file.
